


Scrapbook Planning

by flecksofpoppy



Series: A Little Faith-verse Companion Pieces [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A Little Faith-verse, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Backstory, Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Underage Sex, Reibert - Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M, kink positive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Some of it can be thrown away, but most of it is things to keep; maybe one day, he’ll just paste it all into a book. It’s a story with a lot of fucked up moments—some happy ones, too—but it’s still </i>their<i> story."</i>  (Working title: "Gay and Poor in 1994.")</p><p>A little backstory for Reiner and Bertolt in my jeanmarco fic "A Little Faith" which can be read <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1450693">here</a>. Or just approach this as a generic 90s AU, which works, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot that focuses on Reiner and Bertolt, and how they came to be the characters they are in "A Little Faith." And yes, Jean shows up at the end. And yes, there is filthy porn throughout.
> 
> A rundown of any potentially triggering content: references to past underage sex, references to child abuse, mild internalized homophobia, one or two homophobic slurs, inferences of PTSD. 
> 
> As always, thanks to my bruh [somebodyslight](http://somebodyslight.tumblr.com/) for reading this through, like A THOUSAND FUCKING TIMES and continuously putting up with my annoying neuroses. <33
> 
> ALSO, just a note some of you might be wondering about if you've read "A Little Faith:" this is written in the third person from Reiner's POV. In ALF, which is Jean's POV, I consistently refer to Bertolt as "Bertl," since it makes sense for Jean to think of him that way given that he calls him by the nickname. However, in this fic, I decided to use "Bertolt" outside of dialogue... because I felt like it. Idek. It just seemed to flow better, and makes the nickname more significant when Reiner says it. So, just fyi for anyone that may have even noticed. (Like, all two of you. LOL.)

They’re eighteen, and Reiner is moaning as Bertolt bobs his head.

The car that Reiner inherited from a grandmother who appeared only in death is wearing out its shock absorbers since he’s lying on the hood as Bertolt blows him, pumping his hips.

His legs are balanced on Bertolt’s shoulders, and he arches his back sharply, moaning out a warning.

Bertolt doesn’t pull back, though, and Reiner comes—the first time he’s ever come from a blowjob—and he starts to panic as soon as Bertolt pulls away, smiling at him softly. Lovingly.

And Reiner says three things:

The first is: _“I’m sorry.”_

The second: _“Why’d you... swallow?”_

And the third—which will wake Reiner up at night for years to come—is one of the worst things he’s ever said.

_“That’s gross.”_

It was the first time he ever made Bertolt cry.

It was the first time that Bertolt left him, just walked off into the woods in the middle of nowhere where they’d parked the car, sniffling and rubbing his eyes and shaking his head.

It was the first time he apologized, the first time he knew what regret really felt like.

“Will you forgive me?”

Reiner had hesitated, before saying quietly, "Let me take you on a date."

= = =

“Um,” Reiner says, looking down at the floor, “hi.”

Bertolt looks like he’s dressed up for middle school picture day, outfitted in a v-neck sweater and an actual tie.

It’s knotted the wrong way, and a little crooked. He looks nervous, and too tall, and like he’s still growing into his limbs, and Reiner loves him so much it hurts.

“Your tie is crooked.”

Bertolt starts to blush, but then he takes in a sharp breath as Reiner unexpectedly reaches out to fix it for him. “And it’s knotted wrong,” he says softly. “I can... um, show you how next time. If you want.”

Bertolt just shrugs and looks at the floor. “Look,” he says quietly, taking a step back, “I know you don’t want to be here.” 

Bertolt’s mouth is a thin line, and Reiner hates himself when he remembers his own cruel words.

“It wasn’t gross,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Bertl.”

When Bertolt hears the nickname, he turns away and takes in a shuddery breath, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Bertolt has never been an aggressive person. Sometimes, he’ll lash out if provoked enough—and it has to be severe provocation—but he normally plays his cards very close to his chest. Even with Reiner, sometimes he still closes up.

“We don’t have to do this, anymore,” he says, his voice unsettlingly calm, “if you don’t want to.”

“I never said that,” Reiner whispers, putting a hand hesitantly on Bertolt’s shoulder.

Bertolt shrugs it off and takes two steps away.

“Then don’t say shit like that to me,” he shudders, and Reiner knows he’s crying. The last time he saw Bertolt cry—exempting the woods just a few days before—was junior year, when some asshole had called Bertolt a fag.

“I’m sorry,” Reiner repeats in a whisper. “That was the most fucked up thing I’ve ever said.”

Bertolt finally turns his head slightly to look at Reiner over his shoulder, and his eyes are red. “Yeah, it was,” he agrees, finally turning back around. “I still can’t believe you showed up.”

Reiner just stares at him in disbelief, and then captures Bertolt in his arms, pulling him close. “I’ll always show up,” he murmurs. 

Bertolt sniffles a little, and Reiner rubs his back; he doesn’t get pushed away, though. The sweater is very soft, and Bertolt’s skin is even softer when he slides his hand up the back of Bertolt’s neck.

“C’mon,” he says softly, “we’re supposed to be on a stupid date, right?”

“Yeah,” Bertolt whispers, “I guess.”

“Well, what do you do on a date? Like... make out at a drive-in?”

That earns a little laugh. “We’re not starring in Grease, Reiner.”

“Sure as shit I know that,” Reiner replies dryly, and Bertolt laughs a little more earnestly this time.

“Um...” he says, still not releasing Reiner, “I’ve never been on a date.”

Reiner pulls back a little to look at Bertolt, but their eyes don’t quite meet as Bertolt stares blankly at a very particular point on Reiner’s shoulder. He always avoids eye contact when he’s nervous; it makes Reiner’s heart clench to think that Bertl— _his_ Bertl—would be afraid of him.

“Well,” Reiner says gently, “neither have I really. So... I don’t know... what do you want to drink?”

“There’s no way they’re going to serve us.”

“That’s true,” Reiner says, “since you look about eleven in that outfit.”

He thinks for a minute that he said the wrong thing, when finally, Bertolt laughs outright. “I just wanted to look nice,” he finally replies, and his voice is bittersweet.

“You do look nice,” Reiner murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “You always look nice.”

Bertolt sighs softly. “I’ll have what you’re having, then.”

Reiner directs him to sit at a table, and goes up to the bar to order two Diet Cokes. He feels like he’s thirteen and trying to sneak a cigarette, even though he’s eighteen and living on his own. But to his surprise, the bartender just gives him the drinks and a sympathetic look.

Some situations transcend age. 

After that, they don’t do much. They just sit there, mostly just looking at the table, making small talk. It’s strange, to be on a “date” with his best friend.

Reiner finally gets up the nerve to ask what he wants, though.

“Will you forgive me?” he whispers, staring down at the table.

Bertolt immediately reaches across the table, puts his hand on Reiner’s, and replies, “Yeah. Just... don’t say stuff like that, okay?”

Reiner just nods; he’s never meant something so sincerely in his life.

They walk back toward the car together—even though they’d arrived separately—when Reiner turns toward the apartment buildings next to them.

“Hm,” he muses, stopping to look up, “if we lived here, we’d be home.”

“Yeah,” Bertolt says with a shrug. “I guess.”

Reiner doesn’t budge, though, and crosses his arms thoughtfully, looking up at the buildings.

They’ve been staying together in a second cousin of Reiner’s who’d taken pity on them, but he’s about to get evicted.

“Let’s move here.”

“What?” Bertolt asks in surprise, turning sharply to stare at Reiner.

“Let’s move here,” Reiner repeats with a shrug. “Look,” he says, pointing up at a sign, “it says they’re renting. I’ve been saving money... where else are we going to go?”

Bertolt sighs; Reiner knows he’s got a good point. 

There’s never a question, though, of whether it’s “them” or just one of them. It’s never just one of them.

Reiner feels his stomach bottom out as he suddenly remembers the sight of Bertolt’s retreating form into the forest after he’d said those terrible words; what it felt like to really be separated by something wider than circumstance.

“You want to live together?”

“Well, we already do.”

Bertolt looks at him carefully, and Reiner waits. Bertolt always needs time to evaluate things, and even though he’s starting to get nervous and wring his hands a little, he apparently makes up his mind when he looks back toward the building.

“I’ve been saving money, too,” he says softly. “Um... okay. You want to ask?”

“Yeah,” Reiner says, smiling. “I’ll come back tomorrow and do it when you’re at work, okay?”

Reiner is a month away from graduating high school, but Bertolt had dropped out to get a job as a dishwasher at a local restaurant. 

“Don’t you have class?”

Reiner just shrugs and smiles at Bertolt. “I’ll say I’m sick. What are they going to do? Call my mom?”

No one else could say that to Bertolt except Reiner, and vice versa. It’s dark humor, but at this point, their lives have stopped making sense so many times, they have to laugh or else they’ll cry.

At the end of their date—which is actually both of them stripping off in their shared room and falling into bed together—they don’t kiss or hold hands.

Reiner just curls up next to Bertolt on the twin bed, like they have since they were kids, and says softly, “‘Night, Bertl.”

Bertolt pulls up the covers over both of them, and settles against Reiner, falling asleep immediately. 

There’s nothing different about it; except now, Reiner wants to kiss him goodnight. 

= = =

“I’m gonna kill _both_ of you!” 

When the shotgun clicks, Bertolt steps in front of Reiner protectively. “Uh, we thought this apartment was vacant,” he says calmly. “Sorry.”

“Wait a minute...” the man says, lowering the shotgun. He’s wearing a stained white tank-top hiding an overly large beer belly and jeans about two sizes too small, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Berholt? Somethin’ like that?”

“Um,” Bertolt says uncomfortably, “yeah. That’s me.”

“I recognize you!” the man says, almost gleeful as he points. “You used to hang around in the downtown scene, right?”

“Um,” Bertolt replies, and Reiner watches the color go right up the back of his neck in surprise, “yeah. Sometimes.”

“Nice to have you in the gayborhood!” he exclaims. “Actually, come to think of it, the apartment next door _is_ open. Sorry! No harm done, man.”

With that, the armed man—and apparently, future neighbor—shuts the door and retreats back into his home.

“Downtown scene?” Reiner asks curiously.

“Um,” Bertolt replies uncomfortably, “he means... the gay bar scene. I’ll explain later.”

He walks away quickly, and Reiner blinks in shock. When Bertolt had time to frequent gay bars in gritty downtown Trost is beyond him. And gay bars? He’d thought the bar they’d met at had been Bertolt’s first date. To be fair, however, the bar they’d met at was a landmark gay bar, and it’s become apparent that the entire surrounding area is also very rainbow flag friendly.

Reiner doesn’t bother asking any questions, though, and just follows Bertolt. He’ll only let the explanation out when he’s ready, anyway.

“Oh,” he says as Bertolt swings the door open, “so this is it?”

“Wow,” Bertolt says in wonder.

“Yeah,” Reiner echoes.

The place is the size of a shoebox and there’s one window.

Bertolt turns to look at Reiner in sudden excitement. “We’d have our own kitchen,” he says, a smile starting to blossom on his face. “Our _own_ everything.”

Reiner is grinning stupidly, too. “Our own living room... our own...” he trails off.

They both know the last room is “bedroom,” and suddenly it holds a lot more meaning, given recent events, and the fact that it’s no longer a forced arrangement. 

If they choose to share a bedroom, it’s different than being forced to share an uncomfortable twin bed in a distant relative’s dingy apartment.

“So...” Bertolt says suddenly, looking at the ground, “my coworker’s friend is moving, and she has a bunch of stuff she wants to get rid of. Most of it is just shit, but she has a bed. And beds are kind of expensive.”

“What kind of bed?”

“Um,” Bertolt says, crossing his arms over his chest, “it’s a queen.”

Reiner ignores his hesitance, and just grins. “How fucking sweet is that?” he exclaims. “That’s like three twin beds. It’s like we’re living in a palace!”

That gets Bertolt to laugh, and the awkwardness dissipates quickly.

“Let’s move in next week,” he finally replies.

Reiner nods, feeling happier than he has in a long time.

= = =

It’s summer, it’s really hot, it’s raining, and Reiner is ready to bludgeon Bertolt with one of his work boots.

“Bertl,” he groans shoving Bertolt’s leg away from his face, “can you sleep like a normal fucking person for once? It’s too hot for this shit.”

Bertolt doesn’t register this criticism of his sleeping positions, turning over on the mattress and letting his hand drag across the floor.

He’s facing the opposite direction—his head at Reiner’s feet—and he’s got one leg pressed against Reiner’s stomach, and the other splayed in the opposite direction. Both arms are tossed above his head in different directions, and he somehow has managed to hit Reiner with every single limb he possesses over the course of the night. 

“I have to work tomorrow,” Reiner whines; he’s to the point of begging.

“Mm,” Bertolt hums, and then proceeds to turn away; only he keeps going, and rolls right off the mattress and onto the floor.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have anywhere to fall since they’re sleeping with the mattress on the floor—box springs are expensive—but he makes an unhappy sound as he shifts to curl into himself, completely unaware that he’s lying on a wooden floor.

Reiner is mighty tempted to leave him there, since Bertolt has woken him up every half-hour for the last six hours, but he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“C’mon,” he grumbles, pulling Bertolt back onto the bed and into his arms.

Bertolt immediately turns, pressing his face against Reiner’s chest and wrapping one leg around him.

Reiner absently strokes his hair, hoping it’ll settle him into a more peaceful sleep, when Bertolt whimpers.

“I don’t... want to learn that,” he whispers, barely audible. He sniffles a little, shaking his head. “I don’t want to go into the woods. No...” He sounds like a kid, and Reiner pulls him close.

“Ssh,” he murmurs, “it’s okay. You’re not there.” He rubs Bertolt’s back comfortingly. “It’s okay,” he repeats.

Bertolt starts to shudder, and Reiner knows it’s time to wake him up.

“Bertl,” he whispers, shaking Bertolt, “c’mon. Wake up.”

He comes to with a shout, his eyes flying open with a terrified expression as he stares at Reiner; there are unshed tears, and then he hides his face against Reiner’s chest.

“It’s just a bad dream,” Reiner says, rocking him a little.

“I hate rain,” he whispers.

“I know,” Reiner replies.

Rain always meant finding shelter; and if you didn’t, you got stuck out in the downpour. It was like a game, during their “training.”

“It’ll stop soon, though,” Reiner says quietly, stroking Bertolt’s back through the ribbed cotton. Finally, he calms down and he’s breathing normally again.

Bertolt slowly pulls away to meet Reiner’s eyes. “Was I hitting you in my sleep?”

Reiner laughs a little, rubbing Bertolt’s upper arm. “You actually fell on the floor.”

His skin is soft and his arm is strong; he’s wearing a tank-top and a pair of boxers, and Reiner isn’t even wearing a shirt. It’s just too hot.

That gets a wry laugh, and he shakes his head. “I hate it when the weather is like this. I’m sorry.”

Reiner just shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

Bertolt sighs and closes his eyes. “I can sleep in the other room if you want.”

“No,” Reiner says gently, “just roll over and get close. It’s going to stop soon.”

Bertolt does as asked, and presses his back against Reiner’s chest.

“Maybe if we got something that made noise...” Reiner says thoughtfully as he wraps an arm around Bertolt.

“Like a wind chime?” Bertolt suggests suddenly.

“Yeah,” Reiner says, smiling. “That’s a good idea.”

Bertolt settles against Reiner and sighs as he falls asleep again.

He still tosses and turns, but Reiner doesn’t incur any injuries in the process, and actually manages to get some sleep.

= = =

It’s been three months since their date, two and a half months since they moved in, and they still haven’t kissed. If anything, regardless that they’re now living together and sharing a bed, their relationship has almost reverted back to the way it was before they (awkwardly) kissed for the _first_ time in high school.

Reiner doesn’t think about it too much, though, because Bertolt hasn’t brought it up. That, and it’s too hot to even think most of the time. July is unforgiving this year, and while their previous accommodations were less than stellar, at least Reiner’s bum second cousin had air conditioning.

One of Reiner’s favorite ways to burn off stress and keep in shape is going to the gym. There’s a small one right down the street that charges a nominal membership fee, and it’s something straight out of the 1970s. The place is called “Titans Gym,” with what looks like an armored man rendered in peeling paint on the awning.

Reiner likes going and lifting; it keeps him in shape and makes him feel more energetic. He can use the extra boost, because now that he’s graduated high school, he needs to find a good job. Bertolt has been working extra shifts at the restaurant, and he’s exhausted. Reiner is doing the same part-time inventory job he always has, only now he’s switched to first shift. Nevertheless, they haven’t offered full-time, and there are no openings.

This is where the one thing that’s changed between him and Bertolt comes in, and that’s the fact that Reiner regularly gives Bertolt massages almost every day.

However, this has little or nothing to do with sexual attraction, and everything to do with the fact that: 1. It helps Bertolt to not toss and turn; 2. He’s legitimately sore, especially his arms and shoulders.

He falls asleep most of the time, snoring within five minutes, but sometimes Reiner will keep going, gently rubbing his shoulders and neck. He likes the way Bertolt’s skin feels, and how his muscles finally relax in his sleep and really let Reiner’s strong fingers work their magic.

He’ll roll on his side and sigh, then curl around Reiner’s knee, as if looking for him. And Reiner will turn out the light, pull up the sheets and hold Bertolt in one arm. If it’s really hot, they tend to spread out, but end up flopping over each other anyway.

Today, Reiner comes home extra sweaty since it’s undoubtedly at least ninety degrees out. Reiner dives for the faucet as soon as he walks through the door.

The water is blessedly cold, and he takes a few thirsty gulps, and then splashes his face. It’s early enough in the day that Bertolt is probably still home (he works second shift), and Reiner wonders where he is. Normally, he’d be fixing lunch or doing something productive, even if it’s just sweeping the floor. He likes to keep busy.

Reiner knows he smells like sweat and needs to get into the shower soon. He’d worked hard today, too much weighing on his mind, but his muscles feel relaxed now and happy.

He takes one more handful of water, before kicking his shoes off and pulling off his tank-top, to stride across the living room and swing the bedroom door open.

And there, lying on the tidily made-up mattress with his limbs splayed out is Bertolt, wearing nothing except a pair of tighty-whities, his arm draped over his face.

“Uh,” Reiner says, blinking, “Bertl?”

There’s a fan blowing on Bertolt, and he just groans.

“It’s too hot.”

Reiner snorts and rolls his neck, earning a blissful pop of his spine. “You got that right.”

Bertolt opens his eyes properly and tilts his head slightly to get a good look at Reiner.

To Reiner’s surprise, Bertolt’s gaze immediately darts down to his shirtless upper half, down to his hips and crotch, and then back up. Bertolt licks his lips, before having the good sense to blush and look away.

“Um,” he says uncomfortably, putting his arm back over his face quickly, “I’m hoping if I just lie here, wearing nothing, I’ll cool down.”

That gets Reiner to laugh, but he still doesn’t move.

He likes it when Bertolt looks at him like that, because he’s been doing the same thing for a while now. 

Bertolt’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and his long legs are stretched out lazily, the sharp juts of hipbones showing underneath the underwear; Reiner’s gaze moves up to Bertolt’s fine features in the oval-shaped face.

Bertolt clears his throat after a moment, and then awkwardly asks as he tries to change the subject, “What’d you do today?”

“Went to the gym to work out after I got off shift,” Reiner says, still a little transfixed by Bertolt’s legs.

And then he sees Bertolt’s cock twitch as soon as the words “work out” come out of his mouth. Bertolt pointedly ignores it, but he turns onto his side without looking at Reiner, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“Um, yeah,” Reiner continues, intrigued by Bertolt’s reaction, “I was lifting weights and I even did a few crunches. I’m all sweaty and gross.”

Bertolt’s entire body tenses, and Reiner realizes he’s getting turned on and trying to hide it.

Reiner is fully aware that he’s the type of guy some people find stereotypically hot—muscular, big, and intimidating. He doesn’t actually _feel_ particularly intimidating, but he uses it to his advantage if it’s convenient. Usually, no one fucks with him; therefore, more importantly, no one fucks with Bertolt either. It’s come in handy before.

He just never realized how much it appealed to Bertolt—an unexpected turn of events.

And now Bertolt is trying to hide it from him. Reiner realizes with a pang that maybe he’s still thinking about those horrible words, even though that was months ago.

They sleep in the same bed together every night, usually in various states of undress (although, to be fair, never naked), and always in each other’s arms. But it’s actually not that different from the way they’ve always been.

Reiner doesn’t want Bertolt to hide from him.

“Do you want to take a shower with me?” he blurts out.

That gets Bertolt’s attention very quickly, and he actually sits up to stare at Reiner, as if not believing his ears. He blinks once, and then his eyes widen.

“Can it be a cold shower?” he finally asks.

Reiner feels a little twinge in his chest when he interprets the meaning of the words. “Um...” he replies uncertainly, trying not to sound disappointed, “if you want.”

Bertolt laughs unexpectedly, and he meets Reiner’s eyes. “No,” he explains, “I mean a literal cold shower. Like, ice cold, please?”

That gets Reiner to give a nervous little laugh, too, and he nods. “Definitely.”

He reaches down to offer Bertolt his hand, who accepts; then they just stand there, staring at each other.

“You meant it, though?” Bertolt says quietly, his voice cautious.

“Yeah,” Reiner confirms with a nod of his head. He really did, and he really wants this to happen right now. There’s no doubt in his mind.

They make their way to the bathroom, and Reiner finally takes the plunge and strips off his clothes; when he turns to see if Bertolt follows suit, suddenly their lips are smashed together and Reiner is pushing Bertolt against the doorframe, moaning into his mouth as they rub against each other.

“Ah, fuck,” Reiner whispers as he palms Bertolt’s cock through his underwear, “Bertl...”

Bertolt presses his forehead against Reiner’s shoulder, panting and moaning softly.

“You don’t have to...” he gasps, shaking his head. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

The thought hadn’t even entered Reiner’s mind, but he understands why it entered Bertolt’s. Bertolt is always very careful not to force people into things they don’t want to do—partially because he’s passive, but mostly because he’s been forced into too many unpleasant things himself to inflict it on anyone else.

“I know,” Reiner replies reassuringly, sliding his hands back up to Bertolt’s hips. He strokes his thumbs over them where they jut out slightly, and Bertolt sighs softly.

He doesn’t feel as self-conscious being naked with Bertolt as he first thought he would, given the situation. He actually feels comfortable, in fact, as he draws away to turn on the shower and crank it to the cold side, and then shivers with sudden delight as he feels Bertolt’s steady hands come to rest at his waist from behind.

“You smell good,” he whispers, leaning over Reiner to bury his nose against Reiner’s neck.

Reiner laughs a little, but his voice is shaky. “I’m all sweaty,” he says lamely, and then turns around to face Bertolt again.

"I, um..." he says, starting to blush as Reiner pulls him closer, "kind of have a thing for that."

"Big and sweaty?" Reiner laughs. But apparently, judging from the look on Bertolt's face, the answer is yes.

And now, thinking about it as Reiner studies Bertolt's mouth, his lips a little swollen from kissing, Reiner realizes he has no idea what Bertolt likes. It's always been about Reiner and his limits, and never about Bertolt and what he wants.

Reiner has a theory, and so he tests it by using all his strength to swing Bertolt around and then press him firmly against the wall.

Sure enough, he goes like a limp ragdoll and he’s practically panting as he stares into Reiner’s eyes where Reiner has him pinned.

Bertolt, apparently, likes being manhandled. By big, sweaty beefy guys.

"You like getting thrown around a little?" Reiner asks quietly. The blush that rises in Bertolt's cheeks is more pronounced than Reiner has ever seen, and answers the question before he can even speak.

He's suddenly shy, though, as if embarrassed about it.

"I know it's kind of weird," he stammers. "Um, just forget—"

Reiner grabs one of Bertolt’s legs and hefts his thigh up forcefully, directing him to wrap his leg around Reiner where he’s standing; Reiner keeps a grip, and rolls his hips forward slightly. 

Bertolt’s eyes roll back in his head and he wraps both arms around Reiner’s neck, moaning softly, pressing forward so that they’re flush against each other.

And Reiner is hooked. He's so aroused he feels like he's going to pass out, hearing Bertolt so undone like this. Not even Reiner has ever seen Bertolt totally drop his guard until now.

He realizes how fragile Bertolt is like this, and Reiner makes a silent promise to take care of him, make him feel good, never make him feel ashamed or self-conscious about what he wants in bed again.

He wants Bertolt to be able to let go and trust him.

"I'm going to throw you down on the bed," he growls in Bertolt's ear, receiving another high-pitched moan for his efforts, "and um...” He wracks his brain to think of something dirty to say, and then ends lamely with, “I’m going to... _kiss_ you."

Bertolt draws back to look at Reiner with a confused expression, and a look of realization comes over his face—that Reiner is awkward as fuck, attempting to talk dirty and failing miserably, but trying so hard to give Bertolt what he wants.

When Bertolt smiles after a moment, it's unlike any expression Reiner's ever seen. There's not a hint of distrust in those olive green eyes. He’s always admired Bertolt's eyes; he used to sneak looks when he thought Bertolt wouldn't notice. His eyes have almost always been sad, though.

“You’re going to throw me on the bed?” he breathes out. “Even if I struggle a little?”

Reiner leans in to smile a little, and kisses Bertolt’s neck. “If that’s what you want. I’m pretty strong.”

Bertolt’s breath hitches, just as Reiner expects, and he reaches down to hook his fingers in the band of the underwear. “Can I take these off?”

“ _Ah,_ ” Bertolt as he feels Reiner’s hand and nods immediately. “Yeah, oh... Reiner...” He’s losing it, and Reiner encourages him, sliding his hand down the front of the underwear first to feel his cock.

Reiner’s never actually touched Bertolt’s cock when he’s aroused. He’s seen it a million times—seen Bertolt naked a million times—but never like this. The closest he’s come is when Bertolt’s jerked off while giving Reiner a blowjob, and Reiner had been so embarrassed by the entire thing that he had been too nervous to look down.

Now, he looks down and watches his own hand slowly give Bertolt’s cock a few strokes before pushing the last piece of clothing down his legs until they drop to the ground.

Bertolt steps out of them, and then he takes a step back away from Reiner, as if afraid Reiner’s going to change his mind.

“C’mon,” Reiner says gently, reaching out his hand.

When Bertolt finally looks up, he’s wearing a searching expression; he’s very perceptive, and if there’s one person who can tell with a look whether you’re full of shit, it’s Bertolt.

Apparently, he’s satisfied with Reiner’s offer, though, because he reaches out and hesitantly takes the offered hand. 

They both sigh in relief as blissfully cold water washes away sweat and summer grime; for a few minutes, they don’t do anything except just stand there.

Reiner makes the first move, stepping close with his back to the shower spray and leaning over to press a soft, experimental kiss against Bertolt’s neck. He doesn’t know much, but at the end of high school when they first started making out in Reiner’s car, Reiner learned very quickly that Bertolt’s neck is very sensitive and that he likes being touched and kissed there.

As soon as Reiner nips at the place just below his ear, Bertolt's hands immediately tighten where he's gripping Reiner's upper arms, and he tilts his head to the side encouragingly.

As he kisses and sucks at Bertolt's neck, he feels fingers slide up his chest until one of them teases at his nipple. Reiner likes it there, too, but he’d always been far too embarrassed to let Bertolt do anything about it. It made him feel emasculated, which in turn, made him feel ashamed, and he’d told Bertolt he didn’t want to be touched there anymore.

“Is this okay?” Bertolt asks, as if just remembering, drawing his hand away quickly.

“Yeah,” Reiner whispers. “It feels good. Like, really fucking good.”

Bertolt laughs a little, and he brings his hand back up to tease at them again; Reiner almost wants to apologize for being such an asshole about it in the past, but he knows it would kill the mood. Save that for later.

They don’t do more than that, just enjoying the shower and the feeling of each other’s bodies, until Bertolt makes a discouraged sound.

“Ugh,” he groans, resting his head against Reiner’s shoulder, “I have to go to work.”

Reiner embraces him and slides his hands to sit at the small of Bertolt’s back, the water still washing over them. It’s ice cold, and Reiner can still practically feel the humidity and brutal heat of the rooms just beyond the bathroom door.

“Call in.”

“I can’t,” Bertolt groans, but makes absolutely no move to leave the shower, “we need the money.”

Reiner still gets a little thrill when Bertolt says things like “we” or “home” or anything else that infers they’re... together. 

So he works up a little courage, and puts what’s on his mind out there.

“Before you leave, how about... um...” he clears his throat. “How about...” He can’t quite seem to get the words out.

“What?” Bertolt asks curiously, sounding completely baffled. “Coffee? Soap? A nap?”

“An orgasm,” Reiner manages to bite out, and then feels the heat return as his cheeks flush.

“Oh,” Bertolt replies in a small voice. He doesn’t sound disapproving, but just completely unsure of how to react. “Um...”

“Only if you want it,” Reiner adds awkwardly.

The water of the shower sounds very loud, until Bertolt finally says softly, “Yes.” 

Reiner smiles at him a little, and asks, “What do you want me to do?”

Judging from the look on Bertolt’s face, he has a few ideas, but his mouth remains shut. Reiner takes this as his cue to be supportive, and smooths the dark, wet hair away from Bertolt’s forehead. “Just tell me.”

“Um,” he says, biting his lip, “can you... can you just stand behind me and... um, put your arm around me so...” he’s stumbling over his words nervously, but he slowly gets them out. Reiner is expecting something along the lines of “hold me and whisper sweet nothings into my ear,” but what Bertolt actually says surprises him.

He blurts out, all in a single whoosh of breath without stopping, “Can you stand behind me with your arm around me so I can’t move while I jerk off?” Then he takes a huge breath in and stares at Reiner with wide, vulnerable eyes.

Reiner cocks his head to the side. “You mean... you want me to hold you?”

Bertolt’s face falls as he starts to turn bright red and turns around, both hands covering his face, and he groans in embarrassment.

And it suddenly becomes clear to Reiner that Bertolt probably likes things that aren’t just sweet nothings and tender embraces.

Conveniently, Bertolt is already turned away when Reiner steps forward and grabs Bertolt bodily to pull him close, flexing one muscled arm so Bertolt can’t escape from the lock.

The moan that emerges from Bertolt cannot be described in words, and all Reiner can do is say, “Oh _god,_ fuck...”

Bertolt presses back against Reiner and even struggles a little bit. He helpfully adds, “Don’t let go,” and any hesitation Reiner feels slips away. 

He holds on even tighter, until Bertolt is testing the grip, trying to turn and see what kind of leverage he can get. Reiner knows his own strength, and if Bertolt wants him to use it, he will; this translates to the fact that Bertolt is completely immobilized and can’t move until Reiner feels like it.

He leans forward slightly and kisses Bertolt’s neck, and that’s the end of the struggle.

He practically melts as he starts to jerk himself off, flexing his hips and throwing his head back. Bertolt is strong, too, but he’s not as strong or fast as Reiner. 

Neither one of them are to be trifled with, and in their junior high days, a few unlucky souls found out just how strong Bertolt really was when they pushed him far enough.

He’s moving faster now, and when Reiner bites down gently at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, Bertolt’s entire body jerks.

It’s hotter than anything Reiner’s ever experienced—which, to be fair, isn’t much—but what really makes it for him is when Bertolt moans _his_ name.

“Reiner, fuck... _fuck_...” and then Bertolt’s coming with a long, guttural moan, Reiner’s name still on his lips amidst a string of curses and groans.

He goes limp, and leans back against Reiner. After a moment, Reiner releases Bertolt from his grip and they turn to face each other.

Reiner looks Bertolt right in the eye, and then pushes him against the shower wall to give him a slow, tender kiss; their lips part, and he hears Bertolt sigh as two arms come up to wind around his neck. He puts his own hands at Bertolt’s waist, and then they finally draw apart.

“You sure you can’t call in?” Reiner asks after a moment, his eyebrows plaintively raised, and Bertolt bursts out laughing.

They rinse off and get out of the shower together, and then Reiner isn’t quite sure how to act. Thankfully, Bertolt is too busy getting ready for work to focus on anything except being on time, and Reiner decides to just let the experience process in its own time.

“Hey,” he asks suddenly, “you want a ride?”

Bertolt looks surprised. “Aren’t you tired? You don’t need to do that. It’s like twenty minutes away.”

Usually, Reiner works early, goes to the gym, then comes home and falls asleep. Sometimes they’ll even sleep together in the afternoon before Bertolt leaves for work, but today, Reiner shakes his head.

“Naw,” he scoffs with a shrug. The truth is he doesn’t want to say goodbye to Bertolt yet; he wants to lie in bed for the rest of the day, giving Bertolt all the orgasms he can stand until he passes out in Reiner’s arms.

A ten minute car ride will have to do, though.

Bertolt smiles a little, but he’s looking at the floor, obviously embarrassed by the sudden affection. “Um,” he says awkwardly, wrapping his arms around himself, “you don’t have to feel... different. Just because we did that. I mean, don’t feel obligated to...”

“To what?” Reiner asks, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“To treat me like... we’re, um...”

_“What?”_

“A couple,” Bertolt says softly.

Reiner tilts his head to the side, and states what he thinks is obvious. “Aren’t we?”

For whatever reason, an angry expression suddenly crosses Bertolt’s face, and he shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“ _No,_ Bertl,” Reiner replies immediately. Usually when Bertolt calls him on shit, Reiner backs down immediately; but this is too confusing. “Explain.”

Bertolt bites his lip, and then the anger immediately transform into what he’s really feeling—fear. 

“Well, we’ve never _said_ it,” he finally blurts out. “I mean... I don’t know. I thought you just felt like getting lucky this afternoon. How the fuck am I supposed to know you want to be a couple?” 

Bertolt’s actually getting angry now—not just upset, but legitimately angry—and Reiner just watches in fascination; this happens about once a year.

“Besides,” he adds vehemently, “you... you...”

“I love you,” Reiner says, shaking his head. He’s said it before, and he means it.

“I know you love me!” Bertolt is practically shouting now, and there isn’t a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “Of course you love me—we fucking love each other. But that doesn’t mean you want to _be_ with me!”

And there it is—down in the mire of Bertolt’s anger, Reiner just hit the core.

“I want to be with you,” Reiner replies simply. Bertolt blinks; for once, it seems he didn’t predict Reiner’s response, but Reiner just keeps talking. “Now, are you ready to go?”

“Why?” Bertolt whispers after a minute, the fight leaving him.

“‘Why’ what?” Reiner retorts, feeling a little defensive himself.

“Why would you want to be with me?” he replies, and Reiner feels something constrict so violently in his heart he feels nauseous.

He can’t respond the way he wants to with words, so instead he closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Bertolt tightly.

“That’s a dumb question, Bertl,” he finally replies softly.

Bertolt just sighs, but then he hesitantly relaxes and lets Reiner hold him.

“I don’t feel ‘obligated’ to do anything,” Reiner adds, closing his eyes and inhaling the smell of Bertolt’s hair. “I want to drive you to work and I want you to come _home_ afterwards.”

That earns a shuddery sigh; Reiner knows Bertolt won’t cry, but that’s about as close as he’ll come.

“Okay,” he finally says in a small voice.

They finish getting dressed and head out; the drive is surprisingly comfortable, even though they don’t talk, and Reiner resents how short it is.

When they pull up in the parking lot to the restaurant, Reiner can see a few of Bertolt’s coworkers eyeing them curiously.

“Will they give you shit if they think you’re gay?” Reiner asks bluntly.

To his surprise, Bertolt actually laughs a little. “Nah,” he says with a shrug. “Half of the staff here are. They don’t care.”

“Good,” Reiner says simply, and before Bertolt can ask why, Reiner leans over and kisses him right on the lips. “Have a good night at work.” 

Bertolt has been rendered speechless, and he just blinks a few times in surprise. 

“I’ll see you later tonight.”

Reiner smiles at him. “Okay. You want me to pick you up?”

“ _No_ ,” Bertolt bites out immediately, and Reiner feels like he’s been slapped. “Sorry,” he apologizes softly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just... need a little time to clear my head, okay?”

“Okay,” Reiner replies, looking down at his lap and feeling rejected.

Bertolt gets out of the car and hurries into the restaurant to start his shift, and Reiner feels a little empty.

When he gets back to the apartment, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Usually he’d fall asleep and wait for Bertolt to get home, but now he’s not tired anymore.

He decides to tackle the last box from when they moved. They didn’t have much to begin with, but that last box has been left untouched for a number of reasons.

It’s a box that has lived in various garages, storage lockers—even a suitcase at one point—and other places for the last eight years. It’s not a big box, either, but it contains all the things that Bertolt and Reiner have kept from their younger years.

There’s nothing there from their respective parents, but rather, little mementos over their years spent together. The problem is that many of the items in the box bring back bad memories; the conundrum is that neither one of them has the heart to discard something that’s from painful times, but also represents something that saved both of them, which is their friendship. 

Reiner drags the floor fan out into the living room and sits down in the middle on the floor with the box. He looks at it for a minute, and then grudgingly tears it open with his keys where it’s taped. On the front, it says in big, black sharpie “HOOVER BRAUN.”

Reiner grits his jaw as he lifts the flaps. He had a feeling he was going to be the one doing this, because if left to Bertolt, the box would be left untouched in the living room for the next century. 

The first few items on top aren’t so bad; actually, Reiner smiles a little as he pulls them out.

There’s ticket stubs from the first time they ever went to a show together, but Reiner frowns a little when he finds a strip of photo booth pictures. It should be a good memory—and it is—only Bertolt looks so sad in them. He’s trying to smile, but he’d been so nervous at the concert and all the people there, by the time they stopped at a convenience store to take the silly photos, he was wracked with anxiety. Reiner had pulled him into the photo booth and put an arm around him, told him to smile, and he had.

In one frame, he’s looking over at fifteen-year-old Reiner, and Reiner feels his throat constrict at the expression of open adoration on Bertolt’s face when he feels like he’s not being watched.

Reiner sighs, and puts the pictures and ticket stubs aside. This is going to take a long time.

He gets halfway through the box, and doesn’t find anything too surprising. He knows most of what’s in it anyway, although there are a few surprises—some leaving him laughing, and some he just puts aside without dwelling on it—but the next item that really captures his attention is an actual photograph.

It’s of them again, and this time they’re only fourteen. 

It was a year or two after they’d been stuck into foster care—and gone through quite a few different ones—but they eventually made plans to get out together and run away. Thankfully, they still went to the same high school, so they stuck together every day and mostly no one bothered them. Bertolt’s foster family hadn’t been too bad, but Reiner’s was...

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, trying not to think about it.

But he does take the time to study the picture. Bertolt has a big, goofy smile on his face and he’s downright gangly, but he’s got one of his arms wrapped tightly around Reiner’s shoulders. Reiner is staring at the camera, his mouth only half-raised, and he looks miserable; he remembers that moment, too.

He remembers how the only reason he even let the person take a picture—probably a fellow student, if he recalls correctly—was because it was the last day of school, and Bertolt wanted a picture of them together. He was usually very camera shy, but that day, he was almost desperate to have one.

A few days later, after Reiner had shown up to meet him with a black eye and said he was running away, Bertolt had asked him to wait five minutes, and then come back out with a backpack. They’d fled together for the summer, and Bertolt lied and said he was older than he was. He was tall enough and strong enough to pull it off, and worked off the books for a small man-in-a-van moving company. They lived in and out of squat houses, but stuck together. It was a strange summer, and when it ended, they ended up plunked down in the same group home. 

Reiner puts that picture aside and keeps going.

He grins a little at the next item. It’s a car air freshener in the shape of a butterfly (Bertolt had sheepishly explained that’s all the gas station had) and he’d written on the back: _We finally got lucky... vroom, vroom!_

Reiner’s smile flags a little, though, when he remembers that he really _did_ get any type of "lucky" for the first time in that car, and it was with Bertolt. Only it was awkward and Reiner freaked out when Bertolt tried to kiss him.

Bertolt’s been out of the closet since he was fifteen, at least in terms of not denying he didn’t dig girls. He’d never been loud about the fact, but it just became obvious when every other guy in their class was telling stories about naughty nights at dances or illicit moments behind the bleachers.

Reiner never told stories because, although he was well-liked in high school, it was just too intimate doing _all of that with someone_ ; Bertolt never told stories because he was gay. (Reiner’s still waiting to hear about “the downtown scene,” though.)

That same air freshener had been hanging on the rear-view mirror when Bertolt had unexpectedly leaned over and kissed Reiner right on the mouth.

At first, Reiner had kissed back; but then he’d jerked away, jumped out of the car, and slammed the door, leaning with his head between his knees as he tried not to hyperventilate.

Bertolt had the good sense to stay inside the car, which just made Reiner feel worse.

Bertolt had apologized three times after the fact, and Reiner still wouldn’t look at him.

He wouldn’t look at him because he wanted desperately for it to happen again; but he told himself repeatedly that he wasn’t a fag.

He told Bertolt, too, but Bertolt just took it in stride and accepted it.

And then Reiner had gone back on all of it during junior prom. They went together—because they went _everywhere_ together—and just sat off to the side, talking to each other about how lame it was. Bertolt’s tie was crooked—the same tie he’d worn on their first date—and Reiner had wanted to straighten it for him.

Of course, that would be really gay, so he didn’t.

Apparently, though, it didn’t take tie straightening to earn a homophobic slur or two. 

There was a big guy who had always given Bertolt a hard time, although mostly left him alone after Bertolt fought back one day.

He’d been wasted and had sauntered right up to Bertolt, who’d actually looked startled for once.

Reiner had watched Bertolt look up with those big, green eyes, and out of nowhere, the asshole had just said, “Fuckin’ fag... why don’t you get out of here?”

Maybe it was the fact that Reiner had pulled away only a few months before; or that he was feeling self-conscious around a bunch of dancing, stupid couples; or even that attention was being drawn to him in front of a big group of people.

When Bertolt had stood up—he’d reached his full height by then—the guy had wisely shied back. Reiner had thought he'd need to pull him back, but tears had started to stream down Bertolt's face as he turned in the other direction and took off in a run.

Reiner had jumped up—ignored the extra “you’re a fag, too”—and gone after Bertolt.

He knew exactly where to look, and he was right. Bertolt was there, leaning against Reiner’s car in the parking lot, still crying and sniffling, desperately trying to stop.

Reiner had walked up and just hugged Bertolt tight; then he’d kissed him through the tears, and Bertolt had kissed back, not questioning it.

They'd ended up in the back seat, Bertolt’s arms and legs wrapped around Reiner, trying not to cry as Reiner kissed at his neck and lips, told him it was okay and stroked his hair. They hadn’t known what the fuck they were doing—and finally they just started to grind against each other until they both came in their pants, but it wasn’t bad. It was actually kind of nice, because there was no awkwardness; the moment was just too raw to care about being embarrassed, and then Reiner had just laid against Bertolt for a while. 

It was only a year and a half later they’d both turned eighteen, and then they’d left and ended up living in Reiner’s car for a while. 

Reiner sighs, startled out of his memories as the alarm clock sounds in the other room. Usually he’d be asleep right about now, but he likes to wait up for Bertolt, so he always sets the alarm for around eleven-thirty.

Reiner stands up and stretches, bending his stiff legs. The box is done, and everything that’s intended to go back into storage is ready for a smaller box to be shoved in the back of their closet.

For fuck’s sake, they share a closet.

Reiner realizes right then what an idiot he is, that at this point, he’s been fucked up enough to make Bertolt think they weren’t even officially a couple. He should have figured it out a long time ago.

He takes the picture of them when they’re fourteen, sticks a piece of scotch tape on the back, and tapes it to the wall above the small beat-up bookshelf they have—another piece of discarded furniture from the coworker’s friend. The picture is the first thing that’s been hung on the wall. Reiner thinks it looks good, so he takes the photo booth strip and hangs that next to it.

Photographs from the Hoover Braun box.

He gathers the rest of the things up quickly so Bertolt won’t see them when he gets in. Some of it can be thrown away, but most of it is things to keep; maybe one day, he’ll just paste it all into a book. It’s a story with a lot of fucked up moments—some happy ones, too—but it’s still _their_ story.

Reiner shoves it in the closet and stops to look at Bertolt’s clothes. They’re hanging on one end of the small bar, and Reiner’s are hanging on the other.

He gingerly pulls out the v-neck sweater that Bertolt wore on their date a few months before, and brings it up to his nose to inhale, because it smells like Bertolt.

And Reiner realizes, finally, that they stopped being just-friends a long time ago.

More to the point: Reiner should have said something before now.

It’s midnight by the time he’s settled and reading a book, waiting for Bertolt. He’s put new sheets on the bed, fluffed up Bertolt’s pillow, and positioned the fan in the optimal place to try and cool off. Thankfully, the late hour has brought some relief from the heat.

He’s also trying to stay calm, because he’s not wearing any clothes; it’s just him and the sheets. The only thing that’s missing is Bertolt.

His heart starts to pound as he hears the front door open, and suddenly it’s like they’re about to kiss again for the first time.

He hears Bertolt go through his regular routine—shoes kicked off at the door, the sound of the faucet in the kitchen as he washes his hands, and then the thump of his bag when he drops it in the living room.

However, there’s a pause this time right as he’s crossing the living room, and Reiner knows he’s spotted the pictures.

To Reiner’s relief, he hears a faint laugh. Bertolt sounds a little surprised, but amused, and not upset by the presence of the photographs.

“Oh,” he says with wide eyes as the bedroom door opens, “you’re up.”

“I always wait for you,” Reiner replies, raising an eyebrow as he shuts his book and puts it on the floor.

“Um,” Bertolt says awkwardly, swallowing hard, “yeah.”

It’s true—Reiner always does wait. Maybe it’s taking on as much newfound meaning for Bertolt as it is for Reiner, though.

“How was work?”

“Okay,” Bertolt replies with a shrug, pulling off his shirt and hanging it on the doorknob of the closet. “Maybe one of these days I’ll get used to the heat, since I literally just spent eight hours in a steam bath of a kitchen.”

Next come his pants, and Reiner tries not to stare.

“What’d you do tonight?”

“Went through the box.”

“Oh,” Bertolt says softly, obviously fighting to keep his voice neutral. “Um... _that_ box?”

“Yeah. Did you see the pictures?”

Bertolt smiles a little. “Yeah. I kind of like them there.” He’s down to his boxers, and then he sits down on the edge of the mattress to pull off his socks. The bed bounces and Bertolt’s weight pulls the sheets off to the side, and Reiner doesn’t pull them back or make any attempt at modesty.

It takes a minute, but finally, he notices as he turns around to lie down; he just stares at Reiner’s body for a minute as if it’s an illusion, and Reiner doesn’t address it.

He just lies down. “Can I turn out the light?”

“Um,” Bertolt replies, his voice a little hoarse all of a sudden, “yeah.”

They’ve never slept naked together.

Reiner turns onto his side and turns out the light next to the bed, and then just waits. Bertolt said he needed to think, that he needed space, so Reiner is giving it to him.

Finally, the mattress dips a little as Bertolt settles on his side; but then Reiner has to control his breathing as he feels Bertolt press against his back and curl around him. He’s naked, too, and he sighs sleepily.

“Too hot for clothes,” he mutters. Reiner laughs, and grabs his hand. 

They fall asleep quickly, and when Reiner wakes up early to go to work, Bertolt is still pressed against him, hanging on tightly.

He presses a kiss to Bertolt’s forehead and tucks the sheets around him, and then gets up to go to work.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of Scrapbook Planning.

“So...” Bertolt says with wide eyes, looking at Reiner cluelessly, “what do we do with it?”

“Um...” Reiner says, looking totally baffled, “I have no idea.”

Bertolt has unexpectedly received a bonus and a promotion, and they now have three hundred dollars to do... _something_ with.

“We’ve never had _extra_ money before,” Bertolt remarks.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a sweater; thankfully, now that autumn has rolled around, the heat kicks on when it’s actually cold and they don’t have to pay for it.

“Let’s make a list,” Reiner says solemnly. Bertolt agrees with this reasonable course of action, and so Reiner pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil, and they get to work.

 _1\. Replace Reiner’s fucked up tires  
2\. Box spring  
3\. Furniture _(They both just leave it at that.)  
 _4\. A coffeemaker_  
5\. Copper pan set

“A _what?_ ” Reiner exclaims as he reads the list, laughing a little and staring at Bertolt.

“A copper pan set,” Bertolt replies, looking down. To Reiner’s surprise, he’s blushing. “You know, it’s like a wish item. They’re really expensive... I just wanted to write it down.”

“What are copper pans?” Reiner asks curiously. “Are they made of... pennies?”

That earns a laugh out of Bertolt, but he does the thing where he curls into himself slightly and pulls his sleeves down over his hands. “It’s stupid.”

Reiner sits down next to him with the list and puts an arm around him, kissing him on the cheek. “Not if you want it. Although I think box spring takes precedent over pans.”

Bertolt laughs again, and it’s genuine. “It was just fun to write down.”

They decide on a box spring, because there’s only so much pretending that “my back is fine, but can you please give me a massage” a person can do.

Reiner’s curiosity is piqued, though, and when it comes to things he doesn’t know about Bertolt, he has to keep going until he finds out.

Pans. Why does he want pans so badly?

Reiner decides to stop at the restaurant one night and see what fancy pans look like, just out of curiosity.

He’s only been in the restaurant once; it’s very upscale, and makes him nervous. It’s got grandiose wood paneling and there are even drawing rooms for private parties. Bertolt told him once that a lot of Trost’s higher profile politicians hang out here, which makes Reiner want to avoid the place even more. 

When he arrives to pick up Bertolt, though, to his personal relief it’s afterhours and there’s no one in the restaurant.

He’s uncharacteristically timid as he approaches the hostess, but when she spots him, she just grins from behind the desk that’s stacked with menus and an expensive-looking lamp. 

“Hi!” she greets him enthusiastically “You’re Bertolt’s boyfriend, right?”

Reiner smiles a little, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding. He likes the fact that he can just answer with an affirmative, rather than tripping over his words or worrying about what Bertolt will think.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I’m here to pick him up.”

“He’s in the back. You want me to show you? Actually, I think you’re just in time for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Reiner replies curiously, tilting his head. “I thought you guys were closed.”

“Oh, we are,” she grins, nodding her head as she motions with her hand for Reiner to follow her into the back. “But if we finish closing on time, Bertolt will make food.” She sticks out her lower lip, pouting as they reach the kitchen. “I’m jealous. He must cook for you all the time.”

Reiner fights down the surprise and just shrugs, neither confirming nor denying this assumption. 

Cooking?

They round the corner, and Reiner hears a chorus of enthusiastic praises from a few different voices.

“Oh my _god,_ Bertolt. This is amazing!”

“Where did you learn how to do this?”

“Will you come over to _my_ house and cook?”

Reiner peeks his head around the corner, and to his surprise, he sees Bertolt standing there with a little smile on his face.

“Reiner?” he asks, his eyes widening when he sees Reiner.

“Hey,” Reiner says, waving lamely.

“Your boyfriend’s here!” the hostess sing-songs. “I was just saying how jealous I was that he gets to eat your food all the time.”

Reiner just stares at the scene in front of him in surprise.

There’s a small table set up with four other employees sitting around it (one of whom Reiner realizes is probably the head chef), plowing through four steaming plates of spicy-looking food with gusto.

“How do you get it so spicy?” the chef asks, looking up at Bertolt in obvious admiration. “I feel like I’m going to have steam coming out of me! Only in a good way.”

Bertolt is very intentionally not meeting Reiner’s eyes, and he’s starting to blush.

A plate is shoved into his hands as the hostess grabs two clean ones from a nearby stack, and before Reiner knows what’s happening, he has a plate heaped full of very spicy food.

He stands awkwardly to the side as they all chat about the workday, but as soon as he takes a bite, he completely forgets what’s going on around him.

“Holy shit,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, “this is amazing.”

“You say that like you’ve never tasted it before!” says someone who looks like the other host, and also very obviously another resident of the gayborhood.

“Um,” Reiner says awkwardly, looking over at Bertolt who is now sweating nervously, “every time seems like the first time.”

“Will you please convince him to quit this shithole and go to culinary school or something?”

There’s a murmur of approval from all of Bertolt’s coworkers, and then just the sound of enthusiastic eating.

By the time they leave—and Reiner has insisted on putting all leftovers in a doggie bag—Bertolt’s lips are sealed and he looks mortified.

They get into the car, and Reiner immediately turns with wide eyes to stare at Bertolt. “I had no idea you could cook like that,” he exclaims, and Bertolt just wrings his hands.

Reiner also knows that he could compliment Bertolt until the apocalypse, and he’d still deny he had a talent for anything.

He opts to lean over and kiss Bertolt on the cheek, brushing the hair away from his face.

“Thanks for the meal,” he says simply, and then the car roars to life. When it’s clear Reiner’s going to drop the subject, though, Bertolt relaxes a little.

Finally, after a few minutes of driving, he says softly, “I’m glad you liked it.”

= = =

Reiner doesn’t let things go when they matter, and Bertolt’s secret talent for cooking like a master chef is definitely on the list.

Getting Bertolt to admit he’s good at something is about as likely as getting him to cut off his own arm, though, much less actually pursuing it.

But Reiner knows how to get around this obstacle, and that’s by letting Bertolt think he’s doing something he enjoys in private, where no one expects anything of him or makes him the center of attention. Bertolt is also still unaware of how observant Reiner actually is; he views himself as being so unimportant and negligible in the grand scheme of things, it simply doesn’t even occur to him that he’d be worth watching in the first place.

Reiner hopes one day that will change, but in the meantime, he starts to strategize about how to get Bertolt to pursue his passion for cooking. (He also has to admit to himself, somewhat sheepishly, that he’ll personally benefit from this outcome; Bertolt’s food is actually that good.)

And then the perfect opportunity presents itself when Reiner realizes that Bertolt’s birthday is coming up.

Reiner and Bertolt haven’t had a lot of luck in their lives. One of the only times that they’d actually been lucky was when Reiner got the car; but what Bertolt didn’t know was that there was another item that came along with it.

One evening, when Bertolt is safely at work and Reiner has no chance of being caught, he goes searching in the Hoover Braun box in the back of the closet. He doesn’t even have to take it out; right at the bottom, his fingers brush against the hard, metal object he’s looking for.

It’s his mother’s engagement ring, a woman he never even knew. Of all the pointless shit that he has, after his distant grandmother died, she left him the car and the ring. Even Bertolt doesn’t know about it, and Reiner hadn’t known what to do with it; but now he does, and he’s really just hoping that the diamond is real. 

When Reiner goes to pawn it, the jeweler seems to think so as he looks at the ring through his loupe. “Pretty nice. I’ll give ya $500.”

“Sounds good.”

= = =

Reiner is a little nervous as he sits stationed at the door to the apartment, waiting for Bertolt to come home. It’s an excited kind of nervous, though.

He jumps at the sound of the lock suddenly turning, and looks up to see Bertolt as he walks in, looking tired.

“Um...” Reiner says awkwardly, “hey.”

“Hey,” Bertolt replies, his eyes immediately widening. He looks alarmed. “What happened?”

Reiner blinks at him and frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you have that _look_ ,” Bertolt says, as if that explains everything.

Reiner laughs nervously. “No, no... it’s nothing like that. Um... so today’s your birthday.”

Bertolt opens his mouth with a incredulous look, but then shuts it again. He holds up his hand and counts on his fingers, and then looks at Reiner. “Holy shit... you’re right.”

“You forgot your own birthday?” Reiner laughs, moving to help Bertolt take off his coat.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” he replies in wonder. “Wow, so I’m nineteen. Okay, whatever. Still can’t drink.”

“You gonna become a big drinker and party all the time when you’re twenty-one?” Reiner quips. 

Bertolt laughs loudly at that. It’s not that he doesn’t like a drink every once in a while, or on special occasions, but more that he avoids socializing at almost all costs. So unless he’s drinking with Reiner, any “partying” will be taking place at home.

“Um,” Reiner says, awkward again as he hangs up Bertolt’s jacket on the hooks on the wall, “I got you something.”

“You did?” Bertolt asks in surprise. “You didn’t have to get me anything. Unless it’s a massage.”

“You can have a massage,” Reiner replies, laughing a little. “But... it’s not that. It’s an actual thing.”

“Oh,” Bertolt says softly. Reiner knows he doesn’t know how to react to tangible expressions of affection, like gifts, or things that he hasn’t clearly earned. Most of the things Reiner does for him are just accepted at face value, but even that can be hard for Bertolt sometimes. “Um...”

“C’mon,” Reiner says, a big grin on his face. He can’t contain his excitement, and drags Bertolt out into the kitchen. “See?”

He flips on the light, and there on the counter is a fancy box with a full copper pan set. For once, Reiner didn’t even have to go for the cheapest choice.

However, much to Reiner’s chagrin, Bertolt looks like he’s going to cry as he looks back and forth between Reiner and the pans.

“Um,” he says, and Reiner really isn’t expecting it when he turns to see Bertolt’s lip wobbling, “thanks.” And then he turns away abruptly and retreats into the bedroom.

“Bertl!” Reiner says in surprise, right on his heels, and then the door shuts in his face. “What’s wrong?” he says through the door.

He’s usually good at reading Bertolt, but right now, he’s been totally blindsided.

He hears a sniffle, and then a hoarse, “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”

“No,” Reiner says, pushing the door open. He knows when to give Bertolt space, and when he should interrupt—this moment is in the latter category.

Bertolt is sitting on the bed (actually sitting, and not awkwardly squatting since they now have a box spring), and he’s not crying yet; on the verge, but it takes a lot to really get to him.

“Bertl,” Reiner says softly, his voice surprised, “what’s wrong?”

He turns away from Reiner and shakes his head. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says in a harsh whisper. “There’s no reason I need that. I’m sorry if I guilted you into it.”

And now Reiner is kicking himself because he should’ve expected this. One time, Reiner had tried to give him a CD for his birthday, and he’d listened to it for a week and then given it back.

When Reiner had asked him why he didn’t want it, Bertolt had replied very earnestly, _“Don’t waste it. I’m not smart enough to really appreciate their music, anyway.”_

“Bertl,” Reiner says patiently, lying a cautious hand on Bertolt’s shoulder. Just as he expects, Bertolt shrugs it off.

“I’m sorry for acting like this,” he replies in a shuddery voice, “but you wasted your money. I’m not a good cook and there’s no reason for me to have something so nice.”

“C’mere,” Reiner says softly, and pulls Bertolt to lie down with him on the bed. Bertolt just lies stiffly on his back, but Reiner pulls him to roll onto his side. Reiner gently strokes Bertolt’s shoulder and then lets it sit at his waist, and finally, he relaxes a little.

“You _are_ a good cook,” Reiner states firmly, “and you deserve way more than some stupid pans. Besides, I had some extra money, and I wanted you to have something on your wish list.”

Bertolt doesn’t cry, but he hides his face against Reiner’s chest, and Reiner just holds him; he just can’t get past his feelings of complete worthlessness to even accept a birthday gift.

“And they’re nonrefundable, so you’re stuck with them,” Reiner adds. Which is a complete lie, because he still has the receipt. 

“I know you’re lying,” comes Bertolt’s muffled voice, and Reiner smiles a little.

“Yeah, I’m lying, but that’s tough shit because they’re staying." He finally pulls away a little and tilts Bertolt’s chin up so that their eyes meet. “They’re for you. They’re for your birthday, and I want you to have them.”

Bertolt’s face is so painfully conflicted that it hurts.

“Bertl,” he says patiently, startling Bertolt out of his internal war, “you’re worth much more than copper pans, and I love you.”

Bertolt still just stares at Reiner without speaking.

“Fine,” Reiner says, stroking Bertolt’s cheekbone with his thumb tenderly, “I’ll use them myself and burn everything.”

“Don’t _burn_ them,” Bertolt finally gasps, and before he can revert back into defensive mode, Reiner kisses him on the mouth.

“You want to cook breakfast tomorrow?”

Bertolt sighs, finally giving into Reiner’s care. “I think all we have is eggs.”

“Uh,” Reiner says, smiling sheepishly, “that’s part of the present, too. I went grocery shopping.”

“ _Reiner_ ,” Bertolt breathes with wide eyes; Reiner just kisses him again.

“Now,” he says, “strip down so I can give you the best massage of your life.”

Bertolt hesitates, and then says softly, “Why are you so good to me?”

“Bertl,” Reiner says, all traces of humor vanishing as he takes Bertolt gently by the shoulders, “never ask me that again.”

They stare at each other, and Bertolt nods, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Reiner says quietly, pulling Bertolt against him, “but don’t ask me things like that.”

“Okay,” Bertolt whispers. Reiner knows he understands why—it’s not the kind of question that they should need to ask each other.

Bertolt does as asked and strips his clothes off slowly; Reiner can tell he’s tired. 

He lies face down on the bed, and Reiner grabs the oil in the drawer. 

“You seriously bought massage oil?” Bertolt asks in disbelief as he turns his head to watch Reiner.

“Happy birthday, Bertl,” Reiner says with a grin. “Now, relax, all right?”

Bertolt sighs in defeat and moves face down again. “All right.”

Reiner is very gentle as he works at Bertolt’s shoulders and back. He’s tight and tense, and it takes a long time for him to unwind—just like his personality—and finally he’s half-asleep as Reiner presses a soft kiss against the back of his head.

“Mm,” he hums sleepily, sounding blissed out, “Reiner...”

“Ready to go to sleep?” Reiner asks softly, tenderly running his fingers through Bertolt’s hair.

Bertolt’s hair was one of the first things he ever remembers touching. It was when they were eleven—still in the survivalist camp—and they coincidentally ended up together under one of the few makeshift shelters during a heavy rain. They were just kids, and Bertolt had been shivering, hunched in the corner of the wood makeshift shelter. He’d lost his jacket, and Reiner reached out his hand.

_“C’mon,” he’d said gruffly, when Bertolt hadn’t replied, “you’re gonna freeze.”_

_Bertolt was cold enough to hesitantly approach, and then Reiner pulled him in and wrapped his oversized coat around both of them._

_“I’m Reiner,” he’d said, wrapping his arm around Bertolt and rubbing his upper arm to warm him up. “What’s your name?”_

_“Bertolt,” he’d whispered shyly._

_“Bertl?” Reiner had repeated. “Here, dry your hair off. It’s going to make you more cold.” He’d taken a handkerchief he’d managed to keep and helped dry Bertolt’s hair off; it was soft and silky, and even back then, something in the back of his mind had registered that it felt nice._

_“No,” Bertolt had replied, “Bertolt. Not Bertl.”_

_“Bertl’s easier to say,” Reiner had replied. “Mind if I call you that?”_

_There was a moment of consideration, and then he’d said, “Okay.”_

Reiner is startled out of his reverie and he’s pulled down for a kiss, which he happily participates in; Bertolt is lying on his back now, arching up against Reiner, smiling a little against his mouth.

Reiner is relieved that Bertolt’s more relaxed now and at least temporarily distracted from his former anxiety over the pans. Reiner know that he’ll use them and cherish them; he just has to get used to their presence first.

They’re both quickly too caught up in each other to think about sad things, though, and end up naked very quickly.

“Mm, Reiner,” Bertolt murmurs, drunk on endorphins as he rolls his hips against Reiner slowly, “wanna ride you.”

Reiner stiffens in surprise, and Bertolt immediately pulls back.

“No, no,” Reiner says, reaching out for him, “it’s okay. You just surprised me.”

Bertolt is on edge, and the tiniest thing will set him off. 

Reiner gathers him in and kisses his forehead. “You do?” he finally asks softly.

“Yeah,” Bertolt whispers, smoothing his hand down to Reiner’s hip.

The truth is that they haven’t done much beyond the occasional blowjob or mutual masturbation. There’s shared showers, naked sleeping arrangements, kissing and touching, but not so much beyond that.

“You’ve, um... done that?” Reiner asks, looking at Bertolt earnestly.

“Yeah,” Bertolt says, looking down and starting to blush. “I mean, I’m not... I don’t... I’m not a slut.”

“I’d never say that,” Reiner replies immediately in a hushed voice, tightening his arms. “I don’t like that word, anyway.” Normally, Bertolt wouldn’t say something so harsh about himself, but once he’s started down the self-hatred path, even if Reiner gets him back, it’s hard to keep him from starting down it again. “I just asked because, uh...”

Bertolt looks expectant, as if he has no idea what Reiner’s going to say.

“I’m kind of a... um, virgin.”

_“What?”_

“Well, I mean... I guess not by certain standards,” Reiner says with a shrug, looking down and not meeting Bertolt’s eyes. “Like blowjobs.”

“Being a virgin doesn’t mean you just haven’t had sex with a girl,” Bertolt says, raising an eyebrow.

Reiner decides to just be honest, and blurts out in an embarrassed voice, “I haven’t done anything with anyone except you.”

For once, he’s actually rendered Bertolt speechless.

“Seriously?” he asks finally.

“Seriously,” Reiner confirms. “Uh, sorry if... um...” He suddenly feels very self-conscious, and starts to wonder if there’s something wrong with him. He’s nineteen, and he’s never even been with anyone else except Bertolt. The honest truth, though, is that the idea of being with anyone else doesn’t sit well with him, and actually makes him feel extremely uncomfortable.

Besides, he doesn’t _want_ anyone else.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Bertolt says after a moment of tense silence.

“I figured you knew,” Reiner continues, “since we’ve spent about ninety-nine percent of our lives together. And the one percent we didn’t, we were like, nine.”

Bertolt laughs a little. “No, I know. I just... I just sort of assumed that you... had been with other people.”

“Sorry if that’s pathetic,” Reiner says with a shrug. He’s feeling mortified at this point and rolls away from Bertolt. “Um... I’m going to sleep.”

“Wait, Reiner,” Bertolt says in a suddenly urgent voice. He reaches out to pull Reiner back over by the shoulder, and Reiner doesn’t look at him. “I’m just surprised, okay?” Then he looks slightly horrified, and blinks a few times. “You’ve... wanted everything we’ve done, right?”

“Yeah,” Reiner nods. That much he knows to be true. “Definitely.”

He knows he shouldn’t ask, but after sharing so much information, the question that’s been on his mind for a while now just slips out. “What’s the ‘downtown scene?’”

Bertolt goes a little pale and he swallows hard, but to Reiner’s surprise, he doesn’t immediately withdraw into himself.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Reiner adds quietly.

“I used to cruise,” he says bluntly, lowering his eyes to stare at the comforter. “Do you know what that is?”

“Yeah,” Reiner replies softly.

“That guy knew me from the scene,” he says, and moves back a few inches from Reiner as he talks, “our neighbor, I mean.” Suddenly, he looks up to stare at Reiner with wide eyes. “I didn’t fuck him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking,” Reiner says softly, sliding his hand up to cup the side of Bertolt’s face. 

“I was fifteen,” he says, his voice going very soft, “and... well, they liked when I looked younger than I was. I told them I was eighteen...” He snorts, and it’s the ugliest sound that Reiner’s ever heard him make, “...but they knew.”

He pauses for an awkward moment, and Reiner just waits patiently, letting him talk.

“Nothing... um...” Bertolt continues after a minute uncomfortably. “Nothing ever _happened_ to me. I mean, you know, nothing, like... against my will.”

Reiner knows what he means, and just nods, letting Bertolt share what he wants to. “Okay.”

“It was just...” he takes a shuddery, little sigh, but forces himself to keep talking. “It was disgusting,” he whispers, curling into himself a little. “I don’t know... I remember the first guy. He was actually really good-looking, too. I thought he was nice, and then we, um... fucked,” he coughs out the word, but keeps going, “and he tried to give me money afterwards.”

“Jesus,” Reiner murmurs; Bertolt’s still not looking at him.

“I know it’s disgusting,” he whispers, “but I don’t do that anymore.”

“No,” Reiner says, shaking his head vehemently, “that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry I wasn’t there...” his voice cracks. “I’m so sorry.”

“I got tested and everything,” Bertolt says, not acknowledging Reiner’s apology for not being there. “I’m not... dirty.”

“Stop saying things like that,” Reiner growls, and the tone of his voice gets Bertolt to look up. “You’re not dirty, you’re not a slut, and you’re not disgusting. Those guys are disgusting for doing that to you.”

Bertolt sighs. “Not all of them were as bad as that,” he says simply. “I mean...” he looks like he’s going to throw up, but he keeps talking anyway, “I enjoyed it.” He’s whispering now, and Reiner can hear the tears in his voice, “That’s why I did it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Reiner says soothingly, reaching out to pull Bertolt toward him. He doesn’t use force, though, and waits for Bertolt to follow the direction of his hand; to his surprise, there’s no struggle, and Bertolt presses up against him.

“I stopped when we... um...” Bertolt says quietly, “when you...” He sighs slowly, as if trying to gather his bearings, and starts again. “I stopped because I didn’t want anyone else except you.”

 _“Me?”_ Reiner asks in surprise, his hand immediately rising to stroke Bertolt’s hair; it’s like second nature at this point. 

“Everything we’ve done feels a million times better than anything else,” Bertolt replies immediately, and then tenses with embarrassment. He doesn’t take it back, though.

Reiner is feeling brave, and he asks a question he’s been wondering about for a while. “So... you’re into kinky stuff, huh?”

“Um, yeah,” Bertolt confirms uncertainly, “yeah, I am. I guess... that’s what you’d call it.”

“Why do you want to be held in place?” Reiner asks quietly, not even sure whether he’ll get an answer. “I mean, besides liking big, beefy guys.”

That gets a little, timid laugh, but Bertolt answers after a moment. “It makes me feel safe,” he says simply. “I mean, with you, it does.”

“Being held in place makes you feel... safe?” Reiner asks in confusion.

Bertolt just shrugs a little, and Reiner realizes he’s embarrassed again. “Don’t get me wrong,” Reiner adds quickly, “that felt really amazing.”

That earns a surprised noise from Bertolt, and then finally, his body relaxes a little. “I like being immobilized,” he says frankly, but his voice is very quiet. “I like... being tied down, and... um... I kind of like...” 

Finally, Reiner draws back to look at him, and tips Bertolt’s chin up to force their eyes to meet.

“Just tell me,” he says with a steadfast gaze. “I want to know.”

“I like being spanked,” Bertolt blurts out, his eyes wide and vulnerable; and then he turns red from his neck all the way up to his hairline.

Reiner blinks.

They just stare at each other for a minute, and Reiner realizes Bertolt’s about to flee when his entire body tenses.

“Good,” is the first thing he can manage to pull out of himself to stop Bertolt from trying to escape, “I’m super into spanking.”

Bertolt just stares at him, and then starts to laugh. He laughs and reaches out to touch Reiner’s face, and then the laughter turns into tears.

Reiner pulls him close and kisses his head, just letting him cry. 

“You never have to be ashamed of what you want,” Reiner murmurs into his ear once Bertolt’s calmed down. “You never have to be ashamed of _anything_ , Bertl.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

“Why don’t we go to sleep... and then see how you feel tomorrow?” Reiner suggests.

“Yeah,” Bertolt agrees.

They settle down in bed together, and Bertolt gets close. Reiner’s lying on his back, and he sighs in contentment when Bertolt sidles up next to him, settles his head in the crook of his shoulder, and drapes a leg over his hip.

“Thanks for the pans,” he whispers, and Reiner laughs, turning to kiss Bertolt’s hair.

= = =

A few days pass, and Bertolt slowly warms up to the pans. In fact, Reiner is starting to think it’s the best investment he’s ever made, since he’s realizing what a culinary genius that Bertolt really is. 

Reiner knows, though, if he pushes the praise too much, Bertolt will just get self-conscious; so he keeps his compliments consistent and in context. He secretly plots to convince Bertolt to explore this talent, but for now, he’ll just enjoy the spices.

A few Saturdays later, Reiner wakes up to his favorite day of the week. It’s the one day off they both share, and they can spend it together. Half the time they just laze around the apartment, which Reiner enjoys more than anything else he can remember.

This particular morning, he wakes up with a lazy smile, because Bertolt is stretched out behind him with an arm around Reiner’s waist. He’s breathing evenly, completely at rest, and his long legs are pressed against Reiner’s.

“Bertl?” he yawns. Bertolt stirs and rubs his foot against Reiner’s.

“Mm,” he hums, “it’s too early.”

“It’s eleven a.m.”

“Don’t care,” Bertolt sighs, starting to fall back asleep, until Reiner turns over to face him.

Their eyes meet, and Bertolt blinks at him sleepily, before smiling. “It’s Saturday,” he says with a happy sigh, “we don’t have to get up.”

“Yeah,” Reiner agrees, his eyes slowly starting to slip shut again, completely hypnotized by the warmth of Bertolt’s skin against his own.

He becomes very aware, suddenly, though, of the fact that Bertolt is sporting an impressive erection.

“Ugh,” Bertolt groans, laughing a little, “good morning.”

“You, uh...” Reiner stammers, causing Bertolt’s eyes to open, “do you want me to take care of that for you?”

“You don’t have to,” Bertolt says quickly, looking embarrassed. “You can just go back to sleep.”

“But do you want me to?”

“Well...” Reiner can already tell Bertolt his fighting with himself. “Um... that’d be nice. But only if you really want to.”

“I do,” Reiner replies decisively, rocking his hips forward. 

Bertolt’s eyes immediately slip shut, and he moans softly. Neither one of them are wearing clothes, either, which it makes it easier.

Reiner pushes Bertolt onto his back, taking time to kiss down his neck to his collarbones and nipples; it’s almost experimental, but Bertolt doesn’t seem to be complaining as he wraps a hand around Reiner’s shoulder and arches his back.

“Oh god,” Bertolt exhales hard, “that feels good... Reiner...”

Reiner’s eyes slip shut as he sucks and bites at Bertolt’s nipples, and then slides his hand down to stroke his cock.

After a few minutes of this treatment, Bertolt sounds like he’s about to come, but then it goes on, until he’s whining and desperate, twisting his hips in agony.

“What’s wrong?” Reiner finally asks, pulling away. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Bertolt’s eyes are closed, his forehead is sweaty, and shakes his head. “No,” he gasps, “can you just...” 

Reiner makes an encouraging noise. 

He blurts it all out with barely any pauses, “Hold my hands above my head and just let me rub against you.”

Reiner doesn’t question it, and gets on top of Bertolt to take both of his hands in a strong grip and pin them above his head.

Just the action of his arms being outstretched makes him cry out, and it takes exactly two pumps of his hips up against Reiner to come. He orgasms hard, his cock spurting come across Reiner’s stomach, and then he goes limp.

Reiner releases his hands, and Bertolt is suddenly very needy as he huddles against Reiner.

“Is that what you wanted?” Reiner asks softly, taking the cue and pulling Bertolt close, stroking his back.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly.

“Do you want me to tie you up sometime?” Reiner asks frankly.

The response Bertolt gives—which is to groan and arch his back lazily against Reiner—answers that question.

Reiner decides that Bertolt is never going to give up on his hesitance to tell Reiner what he wants, unless Reiner really drives the point home.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he says bluntly. “I want to try everything you want to try.”

“Um...” Bertolt says, drawing back slightly with a skeptical look. “I don’t think...”

“No,” Reiner says firmly, “I want to know what you want.” He nuzzles his nose against Bertolt’s cheek and kisses him there. “I’m... curious,” he adds softly. “I want to try things, too.”

That seems to convince Bertolt a little more, and he looks at Reiner hesitantly.

“What?” Reiner asks immediately.

“Um...” he says, the blush already rising to his face, “after we get up and shower...”

“Yeah?” Reiner encourages, feeling the customary little thrill at the “we” thrown in there.

“I want you to sit on my face,” Bertolt blurts out.

Reiner can’t help the way his eyebrows raise, because the fact of the matter is that he doesn’t even know what Bertolt means.

“Uh, okay,” he says, cocking his head to the side curiously.

“I want to rim you,” Bertolt explains, not bothering to be tactful.

 _“Oh,”_ he says. Now even he’s blushing.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Bertolt says in a meek, quiet voice. Reiner knows that he won’t be disappointed if Reiner just says no; it’s that he’s intensely embarrassed.

“It’s not that,” Reiner replies immediately, gathering Bertolt into his arms. “Um... I just have never done that. Or anything close. But... I’ll try it.”

“Seriously?” Bertolt asks, his voice incredulous.

“Yeah,” Reiner says, shrugging bashfully. “If you think it’ll feel good, I trust you.”

That gets a conflicted sound out of Bertolt, but Reiner knows it was the right thing to say.

They shower together in silence—a new ritual that Reiner always looks forward to on Saturday mornings—and, ironically, they don’t kiss. In fact, Reiner is so nervous his hands are shaking as he follows Bertolt out into the bedroom again, wearing only a towel.

Bertolt turns around to stare at him with wide eyes, but then, something happens that Reiner isn’t expecting.

Bertolt actually _smiles_. A real smile, calm and not wracked with self-consciousness; so Reiner smiles back, and reaches for him.

“So... what do I do?” he asks, almost amused at the surreal quality of the situation as he drops the towel.

“Just...” Bertolt starts, lying down on the bed as he motions for Reiner to come closer. “Just, um, well... sit on my face. I mean, don’t _literally_ put all your weight on me, or else you’ll kill me.”

Reiner starts to laugh, but it’s nervous laughter; nevertheless, he’s relieved Bertolt has a sense of humor about it. He also gets the sense that Bertolt’s done this before.

“O-okay,” he stammers.

And without further ado, he gets onto the bed, spreads his knees apart, and closes his eyes in mortification as he lowers himself onto Bertolt’s face.

He’s _not_ expecting what he feels next, though, which is Bertolt’s fingers spreading him apart, and then a tongue brushing along his entrance; and it is the most fucking blissful thing he’s ever felt, and he lets out a startled moan.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” he exhales as Bertolt uses his tongue and fingers to tease at the sensitive nerves. The sensation is incredible, and much to Reiner’s surprise, Bertolt is moaning, too. Not only that, but his cock is actually standing out in front of him, painfully hard and already leaking precome.

Reiner starts to stroke himself as Bertolt rims him. Bertolt is moaning himself as he works his tongue skillfully; his fingers are shaky as he does it, but Reiner knows he’s enjoying it.

And the thought that Bertolt is enjoying what he’s doing sends Reiner over the edge very quickly, spurting come over Bertolt’s chest.

“Oh my _god,_ ” he groans, drawing away to collapse onto his back, chest heaving. “Bertl, that was fucking amazing...”

Bertolt’s face is flushed, and he looks completely debauched, staring at Reiner with wide, green eyes.

Reiner takes one look at Bertolt’s cock and acts.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says simply, and before Bertolt can blink, he flips Bertolt onto his side like a ragdoll and grabs both his hands, twisting them behind his back. Reiner’s careful not to wrench his arms or hurt him, but Bertolt makes a surprised sound that immediately melts into a guttural moan when he feels the strength of Reiner’s grip.

Reiner grabs one of his own long-sleeved shirts and haphazardly ties Bertolt’s wrists together behind his back.

“ _Yes,_ ” he hisses, panting, “Reiner... fuck...”

Reiner sidles up behind him, teasingly dragging over his nipples down to his hip, and touching his cock too lightly to be satisfying.

Bertolt _keens_ and squirms, his body writhing, but not once does he tell Reiner he wants to be untied or for the situation to stop.

“You can’t move,” Reiner whispers into his ear, “unless I let you go.”

Reiner has never heard Bertolt make a noise like the one he makes in response to the words, and he actually whines. “Please touch me,” he begs, “please _pleaseplease..._ ”

Reiner is panting himself now, hearing Bertolt like this; he’s never like this, always so tightly strung and closed off, even with Reiner sometimes. Now, he’s completely undone, living inside this moment and reveling in the freedom to beg.

Reiner suddenly understands—at least somewhat—what Bertolt meant before when he used the word “safe.”

Reiner reaches down to stroke him, kissing the back of his shoulder as Bertolt desperately pumps his hips, and he comes quickly, heaving breath as his body shakes with the intensity of the orgasm.

Finally, he goes limp, and Reiner gingerly unties his hands and takes Bertolt into his arms, pulling him close.

“Was that what you wanted?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to Bertolt’s hair. It’s still damp from the shower, and smells good.

“That was really good,” Bertolt whispers. “I’ve never been able to do that—exactly that, I mean—with anyone.”

“I love you,” Reiner murmurs, stroking down Berolt’s side to enjoy the feeling of his skin. “Love you so much, Bertl.”

Bertolt makes an emotional noise at the nickname, and he presses a kiss against Reiner’s chest. “Love you, too,” he whispers.

= = =

Reiner kicks back on the couch with a tupperware full of leftovers, practically moaning as the spicy food hits his taste buds.

“Are you having an orgasm over food?”

Reiner grins as he swallows, looking up to see Bertolt standing in the kitchen doorway with an amused look on his face.

“Yes,” he retorts, and takes another bite. “I’ll do the dishes.”

“Don’t use the steel wool, or else you’ll scrape up my pans,” Bertolt says with a little snort as he comes to sit next to Reiner on the couch. Reiner makes a happy sound as Bertolt leans his head against his shoulder.

“So, what do you want to do tonight?”

Bertolt shrugs a little. “Well, I guess I might as well go out for my first ‘officially legal’ alcoholic beverage.”

Reiner laughs and turns to kiss Bertolt’s hair. “Sounds good. Let’s go back to that bar. You know, the one where we had our first date?”

Bertolt snuggles against Reiner, which Reiner knows means he thinks it’s a good idea.

“Okay,” he replies after a moment of deliberation, “but just for a little while.”

Reiner can tell there’s something else he wants to say, though, and he waits patiently, finishing the food.

“So... I had this idea,” Bertolt says suddenly.

“Uh huh?” Reiner asks casually, careful not to chase the mildly assertive side of Bertolt away with too much enthusiasm.

“Do you ever, um... wonder about what’s out there?”

Reiner frowns in confusion as he leans over to put the empty tupperware on the side table next to the couch. 

“What do you mean?”

“Um,” Bertolt stammers, “like... you know, what being with another person would be like? Besides me?”

“No,” Reiner immediately retorts firmly, wrapping his arm around Bertolt tightly.

Apparently he’s missed the point, though, because Bertolt makes a thoughtful noise and tries again. “No, I mean... are you ever curious. Not that you don’t want to be together... just in general.”

Reiner hazards a contemplative noise, but it seems Bertolt really wants to know.

“Well,” he says hesitantly, “I guess... in the way that I wonder what it’d be like to go on vacation to Sina. Like, do I really want to? I don’t care either way. Would it be interesting? Sure, I guess. But it’s not really something that I think about a lot.”

“Okay,” Bertolt replies, pulling away a little to sit up and look Reiner straight in the face.

Reiner smiles at him; he can’t wait to reveal his birthday gift for Bertolt this year, which is a rather complex set of under-the-bed restraints. But first things first.

“Would you ever consider having a threesome?” Bertolt blurts out.

Reiner feels his stomach bottom out for a moment, and he’s not expecting how quickly tears spring to his eyes; but he realizes he’s panicking. He forces himself to calm down and wait before jumping to conclusions.

“Um,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even, “you mean like an open relationship?”

Reiner has become very attached to his and Bertolt’s sex life, and he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to go back to regular, vanilla sex. However, he doesn’t want an open relationship. He wants to be with Bertolt, and only Bertolt.

“No!” Bertolt exclaims. Reiner knows his attempts to be calm have failed, and the panic is probably showing on his face. “No, not at all. I’m not interested in that.”

“Oh,” Reiner says, looking down. “Sorry if I’m boring.” 

“Reiner, no,” Bertolt repeats, wrapping both arms around Reiner in a hug. “I’m not saying I want to be with other people. I only want to fuck other people _with_ you.”

Reiner can’t help but laugh a little, feeling reassured by the strong response. “That’s really romantic, Bertl.”

Bertolt is laughing now, too.

“It just entered my mind,” Bertolt says, shrugging. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

Reiner stops and really thinks about it for a moment, now that the panic has died down; suddenly, the idea doesn’t sound so bad.

“Well,” he starts, raising an eyebrow as Bertolt looks at him expectantly, “I’d be really picky.”

“Obviously,” Bertolt snorts, but he smiles a little.

“Okay...” Reiner continues, warming up to the idea, “well, if we tried it, and I didn’t like it...”

“Then we’d never have to do it again,” Bertolt replies firmly. “I wouldn’t want to if you didn’t enjoy it.”

Reiner wonders if he’s losing his mind, but what the hell. Bertolt’s showed him some pretty amazing things he probably would have never even considered (or known existed) if they weren’t together.

“Yeah,” Reiner finally agrees. “What the hell.”

Bertolt has a very happy birthday that year.

= = =

“So,” Reiner says, catching Bertolt’s eye over the bar, who just nods at him, “Jean...”

Jean looks at him expectantly, raising an eyebrow. “Uh huh?”

“Bertolt is a world-class cock sucker.”

It takes about ten thumps on Jean’s back and beer coming out of his nose for him to regain his composure, and he’s openly staring at Reiner in shock.

 _“What?”_ he finally coughs, wiping his eyes.

Bertolt is laughing on the other side of the bar where he’s still waiting for his drink, and now Reiner’s starting to laugh, too.

“Why are you telling _me_ that?” Jean squeaks.

Jean is so in the closet about his kinks, it’s ridiculously endearing. Reiner remembers what he was like at first, too.

“Are you interested?” Reiner asks calmly, wanting to confirm his suspicions. Maybe Jean hasn’t thought of it yet, but somewhere in the back of his head, Reiner thinks the idea may have at least skimmed the surface.

“Um...” Jean stutters, and finally looks over at Bertolt in shock.

He turns even more red when Bertolt just gives him a little knowing grin, and nods his head.

“Don’t feel pressured,” Reiner immediately reassures him, “it’s just an offer. If you’re not interested, it’s no big deal.”

Jean looks back and forth between the two of them, and to Reiner’s internal excitement, doesn’t immediately decline.

“Well,” he finally answers, very pointedly not meeting Reiner’s eyes, “I didn’t say _that_.”

“Look,” Reiner says, patting Jean on the shoulder sympathetically, “we’re into that. We’re not in an open relationship, but we like to bring... other people into the mix sometimes.”

Jean raises an eyebrow; Reiner knows he’s about to respond with an unfiltered trademark Kirschstein comment. 

“So, if I said yes, we wouldn’t have some soap opera-worthy gay love triangle?”

He looks reassured when Reiner snorts and then starts laughing. “No.”

“You’ve done this before?” Jean asks curiously, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re picky,” Bertolt says from behind him, and Jean jumps. He smiles a little at Jean, and pushes a beer into Jean’s hand.

“Yup,” Reiner agrees. When Jean still doesn’t say no, Reiner gives him a full ogle, looking him up and down appreciatively; Jean just blushes more, but looks back and forth between them again.

“Um,” he asks awkwardly, lowering his voice, “well... what are you guys into exactly?”

Reiner can see the excitement also spark immediately in Bertolt’s eyes, and he smiles more widely, the shyness starting to dissipate. “Everything,” Bertolt replies simply. “And if there’s something you’re not into, that’s cool. We just have fun.”

“It’s part of our lifestyle,” Reiner adds, “when we meet someone we like.”

“Oh,” Jean says, biting his lip, “you like me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Reiner replies, as if Jean’s head is hollow. “You’re really hot.”

“I’m hot?” Jean echoes in disbelief, a very pronounced blush traveling right up his neck again.

“Duh,” Bertolt chimes in.

“Well, how the fuck am I supposed to know I’m hot?” Jean snaps. Reiner starts to laugh because he knows Jean is covering up his embarrassment with crankiness, and he grins.

“Because we just asked you to fuck us.”

“Jesus, Reiner,” Jean hisses. “Say it a little louder why don’t you?”

“Don’t tempt him,” Bertolt warns quietly, “or else he will if it means you’ll come home with us right now.”

“Wait, so you’re...” Jean swallows hard, “you guys are totally serious?”

“Yeah,” Reiner confirms simply. Then adds, “If you don’t like it, no hard feelings. But like I said...” he says in a low growl, “Bertolt is a world-class cock sucker.”

Bertolt just lets out an amused, quiet laugh, as if he knows it’s true. Because it is.

“Okay.” Jean looks like he’s just agreed to jump out of a plane without a parachute, and is still wondering why. “Let’s go.”

The unspoken end of the statement is: _“Before I wuss out.”_

The drive back to their place is very quiet and tense, and Reiner starts to wonder if they made a mistake inviting Jean back. It’s not so much that they’re going to be disappointed, but Reiner (and he already knows Bertolt would feel the same way) doesn’t want to make Jean feel uncomfortable.

Jean is also painfully shy when it comes to accepting compliments or sexual advances, but Reiner’s instincts are telling him things are about to be very different once everyone’s clothes come off.

And he’s right, because as soon as Jean is lying on their bed naked, looking like he’s about to throw up... he finally laughs when they both pull out condoms at the same time.

It’s the surreal quality of the situation that finally calms him down, and all it takes is a few laughs and bad attempts at trying to arrange limbs to get Jean on his back and moaning, completely uninhibited.

“You’re really kinky, aren’t you?” Bertolt asks in his quiet voice.

Jean starts to laugh, and he nods. “Yeah,” he says, but this time there’s only a slight blush on his cheeks, “kind of. But it’s not like I get a lot of chances to really, um... experiment.”

“Welcome to the gay triforce,” Reiner replies wryly, and even Bertolt laughs.

True to their collective word, Bertolt gives Jean a taste of his mouth, and Jean doesn’t seem to be regretting his decision as he whimpers with his legs spread wide and his back arched. 

Reiner appreciates Jean’s body—all angles and pale skin and a lot of bending and gasping—but watching Bertolt kiss down his neck to his nipples is what really makes Reiner hot and ready, watching how he pants when Jean’s hand comes up to twist in his hair. He’s fucking himself with two fingers as he sucks Jean’s cock, his ass raised tantalizingly in the air, and Reiner has a brilliant idea.

“Bertl,” he manages to grit out where he’s been watching, jerking himself off, “you want to...”

Bertolt already has the same thing in mind, because he nods and pulls away from Jean, who opens glassy eyes to focus on them.

“Reiner’s going to fuck me while I blow you,” Bertolt explains. He’s always to the point when he wants to be.

Jean’s eyes widen, and he nods so enthusiastically that Reiner starts to laugh.

“Holy god, that sounds amazing,” Jean exhales, obeying as Bertolt directs him to lay on his back at the top of the bed against the mound of pillows.

He goes to work on Jean’s cock again, taking him in with one swallow, and Jean keens with a loud wail.

Reiner hastily rolls on a condom and slicks up his cock before smoothing lube messily over Bertolt’s entrance and working his finger in slowly. Bertolt’s already been fingering himself from before, though, and he takes it easily.

Bertolt moans long and low around Jean’s cock—the vibration making Jean cry out breathlessly—as Reiner slowly slides into him. He grabs his hips roughly the way he knows Bertolt likes it, and starts to slide in and out slowly, letting Bertolt acclimate. It doesn’t take long before Bertolt’s pushing his hips back against Reiner impatiently, and Reiner starts to fuck him.

He’s barely even sucking on Jean’s cock anymore so much as letting Jean fuck his mouth, but Reiner knows he likes being completely dominated like this.

“Want your mouth fucked, Bertl?” he asks.

Bertolt makes an affirmative sound, nodding his head, and then lets out a high-pitched cry as Reiner twists his hips in the perfect way.

“Jean,” Reiner directs, and Jean just looks at him with wide eyes. He’s sweaty, his hair is sticking to his face, and the sight of his legs spread with Bertolt’s head there makes Reiner tremble; he struggles not to come, and succeeds, at least for the moment. “Hold his head in place and fuck his mouth.”

Jean blinks. “Are you sure?” he asks uncertainly.

Bertolt makes an impatient sound around Jean’s cock with a muffled, positive hum of “mmhm,” and grabs Jean’s hand to position at the back of his head.

Jean doesn’t need to be told twice, and to Reiner’s surprise, he takes the initiative and twists his hand in Bertolt’s dark hair with a strong grip; then he starts to move, a fine line of intense concentration forming between his eyes as he pumps his hips up into Bertolt’s mouth.

Reiner’s eyes roll back in his head; he has to look away or else he’s going to come before Jean, and he wants Jean to come first.

“Does Bertl’s mouth feel good around your prick, Jean?” he groans out. Jean takes a sharp breath in, because he’s not expecting the dirty talk, but recovers quickly.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, jerking his hips up in sharp, quick motions.

“Bertl, you like taking it in the ass and mouth at the same time?” he adds.

He knows when Bertolt whines out a desperate, affirmative sound in response that Jean’s going to lose it; and Reiner’s correct. Jean’s back arches and he comes with a loud, hoarse cry; they don’t have to worry about any fluids since Jean is wearing a condom, although Reiner suspects that if they get used to doing this, Bertolt might actually enjoy Jean coming in his mouth. They can talk about that later, though.

Jean comes, and then pulls back quickly so the condom doesn’t slip off; the wet sound of his cock falling out of Bertolt’s mouth is absolutely obscene and one of the hottest things Reiner’s ever heard, and he bends over Bertolt’s back, fucking him deep and hard now.

“Come for me,” he whispers against Bertolt’s shoulder.

That’s all it takes, and Bertolt’s come hits the bed in a powerful spurt; he shivers and moans, his voice vulnerable and broken, and Reiner finally lets go.

The orgasm is more intense than usual, especially when Reiner sees Jean staring at them, looking absolutely debauched and fucked out.

They collapse against the bed, and Reiner immediately takes Bertolt in his arms, kissing his hair and letting Bertolt cling to him.

“Orgasms are intense for him,” he explains when Jean cocks his head to the side. “C’mere,” he says simply, and Jean looks surprised. Nevertheless, he hesitantly crawls over to Reiner, who motions for Jean to lie against him.

“Enjoy the afterglow, Kirschstein,” he says brusquely, and Jean laughs, letting go of his reservations and curling against Reiner’s other side. “No love triangles,” Reiner assures him, “just good feelings.”

“Yeah,” Jean murmurs. “Um...” he says hesitantly, his voice soft. Jean almost sucks more at expressing his feelings than Bertolt.

“Yeah?” Reiner prompts, kissing Bertolt’s head as he starts to doze off.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Jean says, and much to Reiner’s amusement, he’s actually blushing again. 

Jean is fascinating in that way—he’ll immediately take the initiative to shamelessly fuck Bertolt’s mouth once given permission, but the moment anyone says something that even borders on emotional, he withdraws.

Reiner has some experience with that, though. Jean is far less passive than Bertolt, too, and he’ll probably be able to adapt to the situation quickly.

“Um, are you expecting me to spend the night?” Jean asks awkwardly.

When Reiner starts to laugh, he relaxes finally, and laughs, too.

“Next time,” he adds, “I want to bottom.”

Reiner nods; that’s a damn good idea. “You look really good in those boxers, by the way.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Jean replies wryly, sitting up to pull his clothes back on.

Reiner grins at him as Jean pulls on the boxers, snapping them at the waist. “Lucky boxers for when you meet the girl or boy of your dreams.”

Jean snorts. “As if.” But he makes a mental note, anyway.

Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are greatly appreciated! (Actually, especially in this case, since this is the first Reibert thing I've written that's longer than 1,000 words.) <33


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